A Drunken Truth
by SubwayWolf
Summary: UK Office. David Brent is having an alcohol-induced affair with Gareth Keenan. Brent musters up the courage to tell Gareth his true feelings, but Tim Canterbury chooses the wrong time to walk into his boss' office. Rated M for slash.


**A/N - One of the first slash stories I've ever written, so I figured I'd post it. I'm actually proud of it. Verily! Enjoy.**

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"A drunken man always speaks the truth" – David Brent had read that somewhere, but he'd forgotten where. David had always hated the truth, especially when he was around Gareth. David was always obliged to tell Gareth all truths when Brent himself was drunk.

He knew it was going to happen. David and Gareth had been having an affair for about a month now, and David's feelings for Gareth were through the roof. However, Brent was almost positive Keenan didn't feel the same. He didn't like thinking about it, he didn't like accepting the fact. But it was true. Gareth didn't think the same way of Brent as Brent did for Gareth. And David tried very hard to just deal with it and move on, but for some reason he wanted some sort of passion between what Gareth did to him.

And that's why Brent was uncomfortable with telling Gareth how he felt; Gareth was obviously going to reject him and hurt Brent even more; pour salt in his boss' wounds. But David figured, after a few more drinks, the truth would come out easier than it could ever have if it were accompanied with sobriety.

So David sat at his desk, leaning back into the blue spinning chair he loved so much, bottle in hand as he wiped the remainder of alcohol off his beard with the back of his hand. He sat with a pleased smirk on his face, head thrown back and eyes fluttered shut. He sat with his legs spread, slacks and briefs fallen to his ankles, humming with satisfaction as Gareth crouched under the desk and ran his tongue over the length of Brent's cock.

This had been happening every night since that one time at the pub in the bathroom stall. Brent. Thought pleased, wanted desperately to mix it up once in a while since blowjobs were getting kind of old, but Gareth didn't know what else to do (or, more importantly, how to do it) so there was no chance there. And that was one of the main reasons why David would have a few drinks during it: so it would be less boring and more pleasurable.

Gareth, his warm hands rubbing Brent's testicles, sniffed the genital area as he sucked roughly on the cock in his mouth. He enjoyed sucking off his hero. Brent was someone Gareth looked up to since the day he received his job at Wernham Hogg. Brent deserved it, too; he goes around all day making the workplace enjoyable by easing a laugh out of people. In return, he deserved a little bit of pleasure every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Gareth was happy to give it to him, only if the cameras weren't around. Gareth took all precautions: he would sneak out during lunch break, draw the curtains, shut the door, and crawl under the desk to pull off Brent's slacks and give him a thorough suck-off.

With microphones off, curtains drawn, and producer Steve merchant nowhere in sight, Keenan and Brent could do absolutely anything. Unfortunately, "anything" was limited to only a single category: blowjobs. Gareth was frustrated that he didn't know how to do anything else, and made a mental note to go home and read an article online on how to wank someone off.

The hard liqueur burned the back of Brent's throat. Fortunately, he knew that, if he drank more, the heat of the drink would eventually turn into a light tickle. Brent refused to open his eyes, as he knew that at the peak of a high caused by drunkenness the world would be seen in a blur, thus signaling that he was drunk. Brent didn't want to know when he was drunk. He'd rather the truth slip out without much thought or notice on its own, not with a clear sobriety that he'd be bound to remember and regret the next day. He wanted to speak against his own recognizance.

This was unlikely to come quickly, however, as David had never been honest. Not to himself or not even to other people for that matter. He had always felt that covering up the truth was much easier than speaking it. That's when he would make jokes and laugh, laugh at the other things in life because it was too harsh to laugh at his own life. Yes, his life was pathetic. Yes, he sometimes would cry at home and drink himself to sleep, but still. David felt it better to keep his words engulfed in tears or brandy than to share them with someone and sound ridiculous; more ridiculous than his life actually was.

Having an affair with a sales rep? Could he have gotten any lower in life? He supposed he could have: Brent himself could have been the one under the desk. He was happy to know that he wasn't, but even thought that was a good thing it still didn't make Brent feel any better. But what did make Brent feel better, although gradual, was his drink.

Brent opened his eyes a little to see how his drunkenness was progressing, and he saw the world in a fuzzy, pixilated blue. He cursed himself for peeking, because originally he told himself he would. But Brent figured, since he felt the buzz in the back of his brain, he would have known anyway. With his eyes opened completely, he marveled at the blur in his vision. He noticed the truth inching his way up his windpipe and almost going to come out. Panicking, David decided to start his reality-speaking off with a short prologue so his objective words didn't come out spasmodically.

"Hey, Gareth," Brent choked out unenthusiastically. "I, uh…can you- I mean, I…can I tell you something?"

In reply, Keenan let out a small hum, obviously not wanting to divert himself from his current actions. Gareth figured that the hum would be a sort of universal sign that he was paying attention. However, Gareth was evidently fonder of the military tactic of stomping once for "yes", twice for "no", and tapping zero times if deceased. But Gareth figured that tapping would have confused Mr. Brent as he hadn't posed the tapping question in the first place. Just a thought, though.

Gareth listened somewhat-keenly as Brent said, "Okay. Look. Prelude: I'm really drunk right now and this is hopefully going to be forgotten in a handful of hours, so if you'd be so kind to not speak of this, that would be great…" Brent's voice trailed off as there was a knocking at the door.

At the noise, Gareth removed himself from David's body and backed himself up under the desk. He froze, a salty taste in his mouth, wide-eyed with fear. Gareth knew he would lose position as Team Leader if anyone knew what he did to Brent every other weekday. They would impeach him for sure! Gareth used his best stealth practice so he wouldn't hive away his position to the enemy as they walked into the office.

"Mr. Brent," said a stern voice Gareth recognized as Tim Canterbury. This was a legitimate enemy, Gareth smirked, and practicing stealthily acts of camouflage on people who Gareth despised as much as he did Tim brought back good memories of when Gareth was actually in combat training. Gareth almost got lost in memory, but luckily regained his center of attention and continued to focus on not being seen.

Canterbury continued, "Gareth never came back from his lunch break. Again. This is the third time this week. I need him to complete input of prices onto this spreadsheet you assigned me. If he doesn't come back soon, it'll be past due. I was just wondering, can you call him on his mobile and tell him to get his arse back here?"

Brent tried his best to sound sober, and he usually was very good at acting. He always had to fake sober up whenever he visited his mum, got pulled over late at night, or arrived at work in the morning. And he had so much practice that he had mastered the art of false sobriety.

Even though Tim's face along with the room around him was moving in all different directions, David wasn't going to give the slightest hint that it was occurring. "Well," Brent said, "You can call him. Yell at him yourself. Discipline him. Not in a kinky way. But you know."

Tim stared back with a furrowed brow. "Yeah. Okay." He got out his phone and began to dial. As he pushed the buttons, he said, "Mr. Brent, are you okay? You seem a little out-of-it."

David then noticed a camera peering into his office from outside the door. He stared at the floor and fabricated an excuse, but he couldn't think of one so he just did a small pout and shook his head.

Tim put the phone to his ear. Only then did Brent realize the mistake he had made by telling him to call Gareth. Brent silently prayed that Gareth didn't have his mobile on his because-

The soft ringtone of "Dancing with Myself" by Billy Idol bled out of small speakers under Brent's desk. David's eyes widened. Gareth's heart stopped. Tim's eyebrows rose.

Gareth scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket and then placed it in Brent's trembling hands, hoping he would do something with it, make something up.

David stuttered, holding the mobile in front of him for Tim to see, "Oh, yeah, I… have Gareth's phone. Yeah."

Tim hung up his call. "What?" He slipped his phone into his pocket. "Why do _you_ have it?"

"He didn't want to lose it when he was getting lunch."

Tim held back an eye roll and took a breath to keep himself from asking questions. However, he was too confused to refrain. "Why did you tell me to call him then?"

Brent looked around the room as if the answer was printed on a wall somewhere. The camera still sat outside the door, peering in innocently. Brent started to sweat as he couldn't fabricate anything while under the lethal combination of pressure and drunkenness.

Somehow, he managed to shrug and choke out, "Forgot." He wasn't proud of his response, but it satisfied Tim enough so Canterbury left the room and shut the door behind him, pinching the bridge of his nose and mumbling something to himself. Tim had been getting fed up easily lately and Brent didn't know why, but he didn't care anyway.

A sense of relief passed through David, or maybe it was alcohol poisoning. Nevertheless, David had gotten away with murder, practically.

Gareth climbed out from underneath the desk, fixing his messes up hair along the way. David wanted to shove the blonde-haired boy back under the desk and make him finish what he started. But sobriety was already catching up to him, gradually.

Brent was thankful, even though he didn't really seize the opportunity to tell Gareth how he felt. He was just happy to not be high anymore. It ultimately depressed him further when he was hung over, so he always questioned himself upon why he got drunk in the first place. It was a massively depressing ordeal that Brent hated going through.

Meanwhile, Gareth just hoped he didn't smell like cock.

David Brent didn't even look at Keenan as Gareth climbed out the back window of Brent's office. David muttered a soft, "bye" before Gareth closed the window and made his way down the fire escape.

Brent rubbed his aching temple with the heel of his hands, trying to forget about Gareth, and, in its place, responsibly scold himself for being an idiot and getting drunk at work again.


End file.
